Somewhere in Between
by clarkoholic
Summary: This story follows Clark’s life after he suffers a great loss. WIP, AU, character death, hurtcomfort, angst, TC torture Clark.


Title: Somewhere in Between  
Author: clarkoholic  
Pairing/Characters: Clark, Chloe, Pete, Others  
Rating: Mainly PG13 but may become R due to language  
Warnings: WIP, AU, character death, hurt/comfort, angst, TC (torture Clark)  
Spoilers: Season One

Word Count: 13,000 and counting  
Short summary: This story follows Clark's life after he suffers a great loss.

---

Mr. Oloskey, the guidance counselor, stood from his desk as the young man entered the room, "Clark, please have a seat."

Clark knew something serious was going on by the number of adults in the room. He searched their faces for answers and wondered momentarily if he was in trouble by their avoidance to meet his eyes. But their solemn expressions told him this was something more.

No one spoke as Principal Kawn stepped around him and stood next to Pete's mom, Abby Ross. The silence chilled the air as Clark walked to the chair and sat.

"What's going on?" He asked.

Mrs. Ross and Mr. Oloskey exchanged glances then she stepped forward. "Clark, there's something we need to tell you." Clark's brow knitted in worry. She hesitated, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes briefly, as she searched for the words that would change his life. "Your parents were involved in a car accident this afternoon."

Clark's heart began to pound, her voice echoing in his ears.

"A truck crossed the medium and struck theirs."

The words didn't make sense to him. That couldn't have happened. Not to his parents. "Are they okay?" he breathed, knowing what her answer would be.

Her eyes began to water and she choked on her words, "No, sweetheart. I'm sorry."

Clark bent over, putting his head in his hands, breathing deeply. His heart hammered against his chest as tears immediately burned his eyes. The lump in his throat and knots in his stomach grew, sickening him. He couldn't breathe properly. His mind raced with disbelief, there was no way _his_ parents could be gone, but the tightness in his chest told him it was true. Sweat broke under his shirt; the room was suddenly too hot.

Mrs. Ross and Mr. Oloskey continued to speak but their voices only jumbled into an array of unfocused fuzz. His gut turned again, the nausea building.

He was choking on grief.

Mrs. Ross knelt at his side and put her hand on his cheek, "Clark, honey?"

_Honey._

A vision of his mother putting her hand on his cheek in the same manner, calling him 'honey' flashed in his mind. The way she lightly patted his cheeks. The way she smiled before pulling him into her bigger than life hugs. The way her eyes lit with wisdom and love she held for him.

It was all gone.

Oh God… they're gone.

His stomach lurched and he mumbled, "I have to go to the bathroom," before running from the room.

He stopped as he reached a stall and dropped to his knees, heaving for a moment before his lunch released in the bowl. He choked for air, gagging as his stomach emptied, unable to catch his breath. After a moment, his stomach settled and while he knew he was breathing, he felt like he couldn't. The refreshing feeling of a deep breath wasn't there. Only stark thin air that burned his lungs.

Falling back onto his butt, he put his head in his hands and began to cry. His cries turned to sobs, echoing in the small bathroom. He hugged his knees to his chest, his hands pulling uselessly at his hair. Unbearable pain built inside him, trying to break free without success. It tangled in his chest, choking his heart. His body shook from the uncontainable emotion.

He still couldn't believe it. Jonathan and Martha Kent taken from the world -from him- by a car accident? It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Couldn't be right. Shouldn't be. He should have been there. The remnants of rational thought he had told him there was no way he could have been there. That there wasn't anything he could have done to save them.

It hurt, it all hurt too much.

He didn't hear the bathroom door open but he heard Chloe, "Clark?" she called. "I saw Mrs. Ross in the hallway…" she halted as she opened the stall door and found him broken on the floor. He looked briefly at her, his face red and wet, his soul bare. She hated to see him so wrecked and vulnerable, wanting desperately to ease some of his pain. Her seemingly unbreakable best friend weakly wrapping his arms around her as she knelt beside him broke a piece of her heart. She held him as he cried into her shoulder and shook with grief, feeling only a degree of his immeasurable pain. She felt useless and scared. She didn't know what to say or do, so she closed her eyes and squeezed him tighter, her own tears falling.

They embraced until his tears ceased and shaking eased. They pulled apart and stood, wiping their eyes and sniffing. There were no words spoken except for the silent 'thank you' he gave her as he took her hand. She stepped forward, closing the space between them and embraced him again, silently saying back that she'd always be there for him.

---

Mrs. Ross was waiting outside the bathroom with his backpack in hand, when he and Chloe finally emerged. She gave him a hug and asked, "Are you ready to go?" as she pulled back to look at him. Clark didn't meet her eyes but nodded in agreement. She gave Chloe a faint smile and nod then put her hand on Clark's back to lead him out of the school.

Chloe stayed at his side, holding his hand.

Their footsteps echoed in the empty halls but Clark only heard the echo of his father's robust laugh and thought about how he'd never hear it again. They'd never again work on the tractor together or fix a broken fence. He'd never walk into the kitchen and find his mother baking. Never get to see her playful smile when she smacked at his hand for stealing cookies. Never see them again.

Ever.

Having amazing abilities but forced to keep them secret had left him feeling lonely his entire life. His parents always did their best to make him feel like he belonged in the world, with them. Their love for him filled the lonely hole his burdens carved, but now suddenly they were gone and the gaping hole was back. He felt the irreparable shift his life was beginning to take and was helpless to stop it. The strong foundation they built for him was cracked and he felt that at any moment it would all come crumbling down.

---

Clark sat alone on the park bench under a sheltering tree, the evening breeze rustling his hair and the leaves above. He loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. He sighed, running his hands over his face, his mind thinking over the stages of grief he read about in an article Mrs. Ross gave him. About how the suffocating pain he first felt would eventually fade. That he would be able to move on and live his life without them. Yes, it was true that the initial shock of his parent's deaths had worn off, but it was replaced with a numb feeling. He felt like he was living a surreal hollow dream that wouldn't end.

Chloe had been with him almost every moment since they left school that horrible day. He was grateful for her; he didn't know what he would have done had she not been with him during everything. Their roles had switched. She was now his support and protector. She seemed to know what to say at just the right time. She always had that ability, he realized. She was at his side throughout the funeral and memorial dinner, fielding questions and shoeing visitors away when she could tell he'd had enough.

Almost the entire town attended the funeral to pay their respects. Handshake after handshake and hug after hug, they gave their condolences. Offering to be there, help out, or do whatever they could for him. He forced a small smile of gratitude for all of them. He knew they truly cared and it warmed him slightly to know his parents were loved by so many but it didn't help. He still felt the aching void they once filled and it seemed to be growing steadily.

"Ah hem."

"Oh, hi Mr. Clark. I didn't hear you," he said politely, sitting up straight.

"Clark, please, call me Grandpa," he sat on the bench.

Clark had briefly spoken with his grandfather that morning; it was the first time they had actually met. Clark knew there was animosity between his father and grandfather and that was why they never knew each other. To Clark, he seemed like a nice enough man, he surely knew how to present himself. He was dressed in a well-tailored suit with his silver-white hair swept back. His presence was powerful and confident, yet intimidating, Clark thought admittedly.

They sat together in unfamiliar silence until Harold cleared his throat and spoke; his voice was deep and rough from years of cigars. "Judge Ross tells me you are a freshman."

"Yes, sir," Clark kept his gaze down. He didn't like looking anyone in their eyes anymore. All he saw was grief and pity, and he couldn't take more of either.

"Do you like high school?"

"It's okay."

"What about sports? You look like a football player to me."

"I wanted to play but Dad wouldn't let me."

"I see. So Clark, tell me about yourself."

"There's not much to tell," Clark said quietly.

Harold sighed inwardly, wishing he knew how to communicate with a teenager, especially a lonely, grieving teenager. Clark was his only remaining family and he wanted to make a connection. He spent the last sixteen years letting his pride rule him and regretted never forming a relationship with the young man before him.

It pained him to know the death of his daughter and the man he never gave a chance would be the catalyst for he and Clark's relationship. He had years of catching up to do and knew it would be difficult. He only hoped that Clark wouldn't hold his mistakes against him and give him the chance he wasn't sure he deserved. He stood to leave, deciding to give Clark space, "Well, it's starting to get dark. I should be heading back to my hotel. I'll see you tomorrow then, Clark. Good night."

"Good night."

Harold walked away, leaving him alone again. Clark looked into the sky; he hadn't realized how much time had gone by since he first sat there. He'd been lost in his thoughts, not only for these few hours but for the last few days. So many questions plagued him. About what his life would be like now, where he would live, what would happen to his parent's things, his things, the farm, and even the livestock.

---

The decision had been made that Clark was to live with his Grandfather. His parent's will was drawn up shortly after his adoption but it didn't specify who would take custody of Clark. Mrs. Ross told him she believed they weren't sure at the time and planned to add it eventually, but sadly they didn't. Clark knew what that meant; they weren't sure who they could trust with him, considering his abilities.

His Grandfather eagerly offered to take Clark in, saying that he should be with family. The Judge assigned to the case agreed that Clark would be in good hands with his Grandfather. She asked Clark if he objected, and he didn't. Sure he didn't know the man but the thought of living in foster homes or with complete strangers was too scary. His Grandpa raised his Mom well and that was enough for Clark.

He knew there had been bad blood between his parents and Grandfather and began to wonder why his parents never involved him in their lives. He seemed like a caring man who obviously wanted the best for Clark. Had he not been that way when his parents were alive? Clark supposed it was because his parents were protecting his secret. Maybe his Grandfather couldn't be trusted.

Since Clark was now the only living soul who knew about his abilities, he decided it was best to keep it that way. He didn't know his Grandfather well enough to trust him with a secret like his. Harold didn't know about Smallville's Wall of Weirdness and a discovery like Clark could be dangerous in the hands of a high-powered attorney. It was best for him to keep a low profile and only use his abilities when necessary. Metropolis wasn't Smallville; he wouldn't be able to play the town hero. Not that he was much of a hero anyway; he couldn't even save his parents.

---

Clark pulled the strap of his bag further onto his shoulder as they stepped off the elevator. The building was nicer than he expected, obviously built for wealthy tenants. For successful lawyers and businessmen like his Grandfather. It seemed strange that he never knew his Grandfather was so wealthy.

Inside the apartment, Harold led Clark to his new bedroom, "This is your room; probably a little stuffy for your tastes but you can change whatever you don't like."

Clark stepped into the large room, surveying it. Dark wood wainscoting ran halfway up the walls with a midnight blue paint taking the rest. Another doorway led to the closet and bathroom. Several boxes of his belongings, brought by movers earlier that day, were stacked against the wall. He set his bags beside the bed and put his hands in his pockets, breathing deeply.

"Clark, I know this will be a difficult change but I want you to feel at home here."

Clark nodded; he wished he could feel at home here too. Maybe with time.

His Grandfather sat on the bed and patted for Clark to join him, "I know you probably feel terribly uncomfortable." His expression showed his genuine care, "I'm sorry that I wasn't more apart of your life. I let my pride take over and my family suffered from it. It's the one mistake I truly regret." His voice hitched slightly, showing his sadness, but he quickly masked his pain. "But the past is the past and cannot be changed. Life does not stop, so neither should we."

He stood slowly, "I understand, however, that you are young and if you need to speak with anyone about…" he casually waved his hand, "I'll arrange an appointment with a top professional." Clark nodded in understanding but remained silent. His Grandfather walked to the door, "Settle in, dinner will be ready soon then I'll give the full tour."

"Okay," Clark stood and spoke politely, "Thanks."

He smiled, "You're welcome."

Clark took a deep breath as the door closed and looked over the room again. It was 'stuffy', definitely decorated as a guest room. It was nice, beautiful actually, but not home. He walked to the window and peered down the fourteen stories, then quickly stepped back as the vertigo hit him, making the streets twist. He closed the curtains, deciding to keep them closed until living unnaturally high wasn't so nauseating.

Unpacking his bags took little time. He neatly placed his clothes in the drawers and hung his shirts in the unnecessarily large closet. He moved onto the boxes, wanting to finish as much as possible before dinner, but he was met with a bright picture of him as a child, in his parents loving arms. His stomach twisted. The box was filled with albums and picture frames, the memories of what he lost. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, forcing back tears that threatened to escape. He was strong and wasn't going to lose it every time he saw their picture.

Or so he told himself.

Placing the picture on the nightstand, he decided the boxes could wait until later. He wasn't ready to be strong just yet.

---

The next morning Clark and his Grandfather toured the cities main tourist attractions and the secret gems only long time residents knew about. One of Harold's clients managed the Metropolis Sharks and gave them a private tour of the stadium. They ate lunch at a small French bistro and Clark decided the food was an acquired taste that he had yet to obtain. The city was appealing, for the most part. However, the noise became an annoyance. Whoever said New York was the city that never slept had obviously never been to Metropolis. Some afternoons he would speed outside of the city and just, listening to the quiet.

They hadn't spoken about his parents since that first night. Occasionally, his Grandfather would mention Martha, or tell a short story of her childhood but those instances were few and far between. Clark didn't mind so much that they ignored discussing them or their deaths. The wound was still too fresh and any reminder of them was like adding salt. He missed everything about them terribly but refused to let himself wallow. Sometimes at night, alone in his room he allowed himself to cry, curse God, pray that it was all a nightmare but once morning came, his game face was back on and he repeated his new mantra – "Life doesn't stop… neither will I."

---

The breakfast table had fresh fruit and an assortment of muffins. Marilyn, the cook, must have finally accepted he wasn't going to eat all the food she tried to force upon him and that a warm muffin and tall glass of juice would suffice. His mother used to make large breakfasts of eggs, bacon, toast, pancakes. You name it she made it. Marilyn was an excellent chief but Clark couldn't keep her large breakfasts down. Knowing he didn't get physically ill, he decided eating something that didn't remind him of his mother would be best for his appetite, and heart.

Grandfather folded his paper and set it aside as Clark took his seat. Sipping his coffee, he watched Clark pick a muffin, "We need to talk."

"Um, okay," that would be a first. Breakfast had been a silent meal the last few mornings. His grandfather read the paper and he ate.

"We need to enroll you in school. Now I know you are used to public but I'd rather you not attend one here in Metropolis."

"Oh, well that's okay. A new school is a new school."

"Good," he smiled, "because I pulled some strings and as long as you pass the entrance exam you'll be able to start McAllister Academy next Monday. It's a fine institution, you'll like it."

"It's a private school?"

"Oh yes, very exclusive. Your mother attended."

"Really?"

"She graduated in the top tenth percentile," he spoke like a proud father.

Clark lowered his head and tried really hard to not sound like a broken child, "Wow, I never knew that."

Noticing the tension, Harold quickly returned to the part of the conversation that didn't bring them pain, "My assistant, Karen will pick you up in an hour and escort you around McAllister."

Clark looked up, "You're not going?"

"No, I'm much too busy with work. But don't worry, Karen attended McAllister as well, she'll be able to show you everything and then some. I've also given her instructions to take you shopping for new school clothes."

"Oh, thanks but I don't need any new clothes, I have plenty."

"I'm sure you do but McAllister has a required dress code and I know blue jeans are not part of it. Plus you'll need a nice suit for school functions. Oh, and before I forget," he picked an envelope off the table and handed it to Clark, "this is for you. Use it for anything you'd like but remember to spend responsibly. It's never too early to learn good spending habits."

Clark opened the envelope and pulled out a credit card with his name adorning it. He was shocked, to say the least, "I don't…um… I don't need this."

"Sure you do. Everyone needs money, Clark."

"But I'm sixteen. I can't get a credit card."

"Yes, it's on my account. There is a five hundred dollar limit but I'd appreciate it if you didn't spend that much every month."

Clark snorted a laugh, "I don't think you'll have to worry." He looked at his embossed name, still surprised. "I can do some chores around the house if you want. Just to help out… do my part."

"I certainly do not want that," his arrogance showed, "Clark, we have a staff that takes care of everything. All you need to worry about is school. Money is no object in this house." He paused, "Speaking of which, have you thought more about what you'd like to do with the farm?"

Clark's bemusement subsided, "I have, and I think it's best to just sell it." That was the last thing he wanted but without renting it out, it sat useless. And not many people wanted to rent a farm. "Pete's mom said she could get the realty work done and oversee it. I want to be sure it isn't sold to a corporation that's just going to build a complex or something."

"That's admirable of you Clark. I know your father wouldn't have wanted that, either." Clark sensed the hostility in his Grandfather's words and resented it. He knew the two didn't get along but he didn't want it shoved in his face, especially now that his father was not there. Clark suspected his Grandpa blamed Jonathan for Martha's death. He probably thought if she had listened to her father and hadn't married him, she'd be alive today.

Harold blotted his mouth with his napkin then stood and pushed his chair in, "I have an early meeting. Have a good day, Clark. I'll see you this evening."

"Bye," Clark called to his back as he left.

---

The school entrance exam was a breeze. Being super sure had its advantages.

The school looked like a castle, it probably used to be one, he thought. It was all stone, he guessed lime, and stood out amongst the modern office towers surrounding it. He was surprised that the school was located in the heart of Metropolis' financial district but he supposed it had been there long before 'money alley'.

The headmaster gave him a lapful of rule and etiquette books, and list of suggestive reading material, plus about ten textbooks; didn't he have only had six classes? He could tell it was going to be a challenging experience. He was an excellent student back at home but Smallville High wasn't nearly this academically strong. The workload was doubled, possibly doubly doubled.

After everything was settled at McAllister, he and Karen took the company car service to the shopping district. Karen said that even though he had to wear a uniform to school he still needed new clothes. A tuxedo for formal events, a suit for semi formal, dress casual for casual events and new shoes because his work boots simply would not do. The shoes Clark understood, but when did casual become dressy? He had a lot to learn about high society.

---

His first day of school arrived too soon and Clark found himself wondering why on earth he had to wear dress shoes to school. He may not feel pain but he could be uncomfortable and he hated being uncomfortable.

He waited in the lobby for his ride, casually talking with the doorman Michael. He liked Mike. He reminded Clark of Smallville, friendly and relatable. Although, Mike seemed a little surprised when Clark started talking with him. Clark guessed not many of the Wyndemere Tower residents took the time to get to know him. A shame.

Clark was honestly surprised when a shiny black Lincoln pulled up instead of a bright yellow school bus. He just assumed it would be a bus. Wasn't that what you were supposed to ride to school in? He still had a lot to learn.

---

Lunchtime was the part of the day he had been dreading. He had seen plenty of new students at Smallville High wander aimlessly for a seat, to know it wasn't a fun time. He held the tray of surprisingly delicious looking food and entered the dining hall. Right away, he noticed the quick glances and stares as he walked down an isle. And maybe he was seeing things but the girls seemed to be undressing him with their eyes. 'Do not blush,' he commanded his cheeks. He also noticed that a few guys had the same expression as the girls. He was definitely not in Smallville anymore.

Thankfully, as he entered another isle someone called out to him, "Hey, new guy!"

He turned around to a table of guys around his age and a few girls, a few wearing _that_ undressing expression. "Yeah?"

"Have a seat," the blond guy at the end said.

Clark set his tray down across from him in the only empty spot, "Thanks."

The blond stood and shook his hand, "Jackson Wentworth."

"Hi, I'm Clark Kent."

They sat and Jackson introduced everyone else, "This is Stewart Doutre, Tim Nickels, Rich Blair, John Fields…"

Apparently it was important to name last names during a casual introduction. Clark supposed he should know some of their names because their father's were rich and famous or something. He smiled, "Nice to meet you."

"So what's your story?"

Clark swallowed a bite of his… grilled chicken? Wow, good food. "Sorry?"

Jackson smiled, "What brings you to McAlly?"

"I moved to Metropolis to live with my Grandfather."

"Why did you move in with him?" the dark haired guy next to Jackson asked… Stewart, was it?

"My parents died," he _did_ practice a longer version of that but decided less was more when meeting potential new friends.

"Oh. Sorry."

Clark just shrugged, not wanting to make a deal about it. "You guys play football?" he motioned to Jackson's championship lapel pin.

Jackson flicked his lapel, "Yeah, I play varsity. Stewey and John play JV. You play?"

"No," he said causally, "You must be pretty good to play varsity."

John laughed, "Yeah, he's the all star bench warmer!"

"Shut up, asshole!" Jackson sneered, "At least I bench on the varsity team. That's more than I can say for you." He laughed and took Clark's apple, "You going to eat this?"

"All yours."

"You should play next year," Jackson said, biting into the apple. "We could use more guys like you on the team. You're built," he smiled, "and I mean that in the non gayest way."

The rolling of eyes and snorts coming from the other guys told Clark that Jackson really meant it in the gayest way. He chose to ignore them, "Um, thanks," he said with a sky smile.

"So Clark, what does your Grandpa do?" Stewey asked.

Here it was. His test. Would he pass? He hoped so. "He's a lawyer at Clark, Nickels, and Abbott."

"Dude my dad is Timothy Nickels!" Tim said. "What's your Grandpa's name?"

So he should have known their names. "Harold Clark."

"No way! He's my dad's partner. What are the odds!"

Tim seemed rather excited about their new discovery. He guessed that meant he passed inspection and was indeed worthy of their friendship.

"Wait a second," Jackson interjected. "You're name is Clark and your Grandfather's last name is Clark?"

Clark laughed, "Yeah, I'm still not sure why myself."

"So where are you from? Originally." Stewart asked.

"Smallville," their blank stares told him they had no clue where that was – big surprise – so he added, "It's a small farming town, about three hours east of here."

There were simultaneous 'cool's', 'oh I see', and his all time favorite, 'small town called Smallville' which was punctuated with a laugh.

Before they could continue their conversation, the bell rang, echoing through the cathedral room and the commotion began as the students exited. Clark stood along with everyone and Jackson came around the table, "What class do you have next?"

"Um, Mr. Breslin for AP Chem."

"Wow, AP. Brainy. Well, I'm headed that way, I'll walk with you."

---

The next couple of weeks were uneventful. School became harder as midterms approached, plus Clark had to do double the work to catch up. His friendship with Jackson and the guys grew. Turned out they were the 'it' group and scoring an invitation to join didn't come easy. Everyone seemed to know who he was by the end of his first week. At first Clark felt strange being the popular kid, especially the _new_ popular kid. The girls wouldn't leave him alone, not that he minded, but Metropolis girls were _extremely_ forward. He just wasn't used to girls throwing themselves at him,

sometimes literally.

One thing he learned about rich kids was that they loved to party. A lot. Every weekend there were at least two. He went to a few; his Grandfather didn't seem to care where he went or when. They were the craziest parties he'd ever been to, not that he'd attended many to compare. Everyone was either drunk or high and it usually lasted all night a mansion or expensive hotel.

Living with his Grandfather was better than he originally anticipated. It was nice to have fine things and never ending spending cash. Clark would have been fine if he never had his new stuff, but now that he did, he really enjoyed them. One evening he came home to find an overly large television, X-Box, computer and cell phone waiting in his room. His Grandfather said that someone at work told him every teenager needed those things, so he had Karen arrange them. Clark didn't complain.

He and his Grandfather had not spent much time together and they didn't speak often. Most of their conversations consisted of 'hellos' and 'goodbyes' with the occasionally 'how was school/work'. Clark wished they could have more days like the one they spent touring Metropolis. He wanted to get to know him better but he understood his Grandfather was a busy man. Work came first, however skewed Clark thought that was.

---

Clark got to the telephone just before it stopped ringing, "Hello?"

"Good morning, Mr. Kent. This is Michael from the lobby."

"Hey Mike, how's it going?"

"Very well, sir. And yourself?"

"Good… and don't call me 'sir', call me Clark."

"Very well, Clark. I'm calling because there is a young couple here to see you. Shall I send them up?"

"Really?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes, sir."

Who could be here to see him? Jackson maybe? Stew mentioned something about stopping by, but Clark thought he said he couldn't after all. "Sure, send them up."

"Very well, Clark."

"Thanks, Mike," he hung up and waited by the door.

Minutes later there was a series of knocks but he had the door open before they finished and there stood Chloe and Pete, smiling brightly.

The initial shock on his face quickly turned into a wide grin and before he could say anything, Chloe was around his neck, "Clark!" she squealed, "We missed you so much!"

"Hey! I missed you too, Chlo. Hey Pete," he detached Chloe and gave Pete a hug. "What are you guys doing here?"

Chloe was beaming, unable to contain her excitement. "My dad had some weekend business and said we could come with him for the day."

"That's great!" his smile grew larger. They entered the apartment and Clark closed the door behind them. "So you're here all day?"

"Yeah," Pete said, staring at the moldings on the ceiling. "You don't have plans do you?" he looked at Clark, hoping the answer was 'no.'

"None whatsoever. Just homework."

"This place is amazing!" Chloe interrupted, venturing ahead of Clark, looking over everything. "I can't believe you live here. Our apartment in Metropolis was nothing like this."

Clark smiled, "Yeah, it's nice."

"Nice? Yeah it's just _nice_," Pete laughed, "Dang, Clark! Is this your room?" he asked, leaning into the doorway.

"Yeah, sorry it's a little messy right now. It doesn't get cleaned on the weekends."

Both Chloe and Pete stared at him, "Don't tell me you have a maid?" Chloe said in disbelief and Clark blushed. "Wow. That is so cool."

Pete and Clark stood by the bed while Chloe snooped in his bathroom. "What's been going on, man? We haven't heard from you in a while."

Clark looked remorseful. "I'm sorry I haven't called. I've been up to my eyeballs in homework."

"That bad, huh?"

"You wouldn't believe it."

"What's the school like?"

"It's pretty cool actually. Really strict, but I'm learning a lot and it's kind of nice not having to figure out what to wear."

"You have to wear a uniform?" Chloe's voice came from the closet.

"Yeah, a blazer and everything."

"That sucks," Pete added.

"It's not so bad," he sat on his bed. "So what's going on in Smallville?"

Chloe walked back, "Oh you know. Pep rallies, bad food, crazy meteor freaks trying to kills us, fire drills, football games, Lana stalkers… the usual." She plopped down next to Clark, laughing. She looked him up and down, slowly, "Well look at you!"

"What?"

"When did the flannel king become so fashionable?"

He looked at his shirt, "What's wrong with it?"

She laughed, "Nothing," she looked him over again, "Nothing at all." Clark detected a gleam of _that_ same look girls at school gave him. He blushed again.

"It's just weird," Pete added with a smile. "I guess you look different in designer duds."

"It's not designer," he looked down, "I don't think." They laughed. "My Grandfather's assistant picked them out."

"Well designer or not, you look good," Chloe smiled. "So what are people like there? Stuck-up?"

"They aren't that bad. I've made a lot of friends; everyone is pretty cool."

"That's nice," she spoke in a tone that told Clark she didn't really mean it. Really, when he thought about it, he'd probably be a little upset if his best friends were going on about their new friends. He'd be jealous.

"Hey, my friend Tim is having a party tonight. It's supposed to be huge. You guys should come with me if you're still in town. I want everyone to meet you."

"Really?" she brightened a little.

"Of course, you two are my best friends." He wasn't just saying it to make them feel better. He really did want Jackson and the guys to meet them. "That is, if you can handle the culture shock," he joked and thankfully, Pete and Chloe laughed, too.

Pete put his arm around Clark, "As long as I don't have to eat that caviar egg crap, I'm cool."

They laughed, all tension gone. "So what should we do?" Clark asked, "Want to see the city?"

"Nah, been there, done that; it was a whole Dew commercial." Pete joked.

"How about you show us the rest of this _amazing_ apartment then maybe we can just hang. We've got a lot of catching up to do." She smiled at him and how could he refuse her?

"Sounds like a plan."

---

They toured the apartment, and Clark told them about the "W" Tower's history and its residence. Chloe couldn't stop squeaking about how awesome it was that he lived next to Perry White, journalist extraordinaire.

They ended up in the family room, watching Clark's newest DVD, _Office Space_. Pete sat in the overstuffed chair and ottoman, laughing at little white Michael rapping along in his car. Chloe sat next to Clark on the couch. She looked at him and smiled, happy to be with him again. She and Pete had become closer since he left, but they both felt a little lost and sad because school and life in general wasn't the same without Clark Kent.

She scooted closer and spoke quietly as not to disturb Pete, who was thoroughly enjoying the movie. "So," her smile was gone, her expression serious, "how are you?"

"Great now that you're here," he smiled.

"That's not what I mean."

His gaze turned down, "I know. I'm okay… I guess."

"Have you talked with anyone?"

"Not really."

"What about your Grandpa?"

"No, we don't talk much."

"Really?" Her concern was growing, "Are you not getting along?"

"It's not like that. He's just busy. He works a lot and I'm busy with school so we don't see much of each other. It's not a big deal."

"I'd say it is. You shouldn't ignore your feelings; they need to be dealt with and if you can't talk to your Grandpa you should find someone else. Maybe a therapist."

"I appreciate your concern, but I'm really okay. I'm dealing."

"Are you?" She leaned in further, "Because I think you're doing what you always do, bottling up your grief and ignoring it because it's too painful."

He kept his head down, facing her and spoke in a whisper, "Chloe, please."

"I love you, Clark. Let me help."

He closed his eyes, his face reddening, then after a minute he got up and left the room.

Chloe watched him go into the powder room down the hallway and when she turned back, Pete was glaring at her. "What?"

"Why did you have to do that?" he asked.

"What? What did I do wrong?"

"You pressured him, Chlo. You know he's not ready to talk about it."

"Well, I am supposed to do nothing?"

"Yes, exactly that. He knows he can come to you and he will, in time."

"Uh, hello Pete? This is Clark were talking about. He's the most shut off, secretive person we know."

"Yeah and he lost the two people he shared everything with. And he's not a girl; he doesn't want to talk about his feelings."

Chloe huffed, looking down the hall at the closed bathroom door then back at Pete. "Dang it, you're right." She glanced back at the door, "When did you get so insightful?" she asked Pete.

"I'm The Boss, the insightful yet misunderstood sidekick," he smiled. All was forgiven.

"You're not the sidekick, if anything you're the comedic relief."

"I'd be insulted if it weren't so blatantly true." Their amusement died down and they found themselves watching the bathroom door in silence; both wondering if Clark would be okay.

---

Clark closed the bathroom door, trying really hard not to slam it off its hinges. He walked in a small circle, frustrated, then stopped and leaned against the wall. His eyes were closed but tears began trailing down his cheeks and his shoulders started to shake. He slid down the wall and sat, pulling his knees to his chest.

He knew Chloe only wanted the best for him and that her heart was in the right place, but why did she have to bring it up now? He was doing so well igno- no, not ignoring, moving on. What was there to ignore anyway? It's not like he could change what happened or bring them back. What good would it do to talk about his feelings with someone? It just upset him and brought back the suffocating feeling of grief that he so desperately wanted gone.

He put his head on his knees and tried to hide the sound of his sharp intake of breath, not wanting Pete or Chloe to hear him. He felt stupid for not being able to control his emotions, but once they hit, he couldn't stop them. Three months later, he was still crying like a fucking baby. But God, it hurt. Hurt deep in his soul and ground into his bones, making him want to break something, or someone, to find the bastard who lost control of his truck and crossed the medium, and break his neck.

Pushing his anger away, Clark took a deep breath and wiped his tears, knowing he couldn't stay wallowing in the bathroom with his friends just outside. He stood up and leaned against the sink, looking at his reflection. His eyes and cheeks were red and beginning to puff. He sighed deep and long, frustrated by so many -too many- things that he could not change. He turned the faucet on and splashed cold water on his face. Breakdown finished for now. Next? Life. He did it everyday and this was no different.

---

Tim's party was at his Dad and Step Mother's old brownstone in the old money part of town, just a few blocks east of Wyndemere Tower. The air was chilled but the buildings blocked most of the wind so Clark, Chloe, and Pete decided to walk. Within two blocks of the party they could see the cars lining the streets and a crowd down the steps, into the sidewalk, all waiting to -or trying to- get into the party of the semester.

Jackson was at the top of the stairs, drink already in hand, and waved when he spotted Clark, "Hey Kent! Come on up!" he shouted.

"That's Jackson," Clark told them. "He gets overly excited sometimes but he's cool."

Chloe and Pete laughed, and did their best to at least look like they fit in. They reached the top of the stairs and Jackson ushered them inside.

"Dude, you just missed the greatest fight. Stew caught that bitch girlfriend of his making out with Jason." Jackson said, handing Clark a beer.

"Wow, that's harsh. What'd he do?"

Jackson laughed loudly, "Nothing! Man, he started yelling at Jason then Lindsay punched _him_! It was insane!"

Clark laughed and took a drink; the taste of beer was growing on him. He turned to Chloe and Pete, "Chloe, Pete, this is Jackson… Jackson, Chloe and Pete." Clark introduced them, and they all shook hands.

"Nice to meet you guys. Can I get you something to drink? You name it, we have it."

"I'm good." Chloe replied while Pete simultaneously said, "I'll take a beer."

"Cool. Follow me," he led all three through the crowd to the staircase that led to the kitchen. He pulled a bottle from the refrigerator and handed it to Pete. "So you two are from Small…"

"'Ville." Chloe added for him.

"Right. Smallville."

Just then Tim burst through a crowd of people and practically hung from Clark's shoulder. "Oh my God, Claaarrrk, you miiszzed it!" he slurred, already plastered.

"Yeah I heard." He said, smiling. Tim was one of the most entertaining drunks he'd ever seen, not that he'd seen many - if any - other than the kids at these parties. "Tim, I want you to meet my friends, Chloe and Pete."

"Hey man!" he stuck his hand in the air to high five Pete then turned to Chloe and dropped his hand, "Whoa… 'lark," he said, turning back to him, "why didn't you tell me your friends were so hot?" Clark laughed out loud, Chloe blushed, and Tim swayed dangerously.

"Hey, are you okay?" Clark asked, noticing the quick change in Tim's expression.

"Ugh… I think I drank-" he dropped his head and puked on Clark's shirt. Pete, Chloe and Jackson jumped back, and Clark stood perfectly still and closed his eyes, willing his nostrils not to work. "…too much," Tim finished after he… finished.

Chloe broke the silence with a laugh and said, "Typical. A guy says I'm hot then pukes all over Clark."

Everyone laughed, except for Tim and Clark, and Stew walked up, holding an icepack to his cheek. "Hey Clark, did you hear-" he stopped as he saw the mess and said, "…um, never mind," and quickly walked straight to the bathroom before he added to it.

"I can't believe I just did that," Tim said, still swaying with his arm around Clark's shoulder.

"_I_ can't believe you just did that… on me." Clark retorted. He wasn't really mad, it wasn't like it happened on purpose, but there was still vomit, someone else's vomit no less, on him and that was not on his list of pleasant things.

Jackson stepped carefully forward, "Um, I bet Tim's got a shirt you can borrow. I'll take him upstairs and get one."

"No, it's okay, I'll do it." Clark said, waving a hand over his shirt, "You don't want to get _this_ on you." He put his arm around Tim's back and pulled him upright, "Alright, Timmy, we're going upstairs. If you feel the need to puke again… don't." Tim laughed then put a hand to his mouth and closed his eyes. "I better hurry. You guys'll be okay?" He asked Chloe and Pete.

"Yeah, we'll stay here. You um…" Pete looked down, grimacing, "might want to clean your shoes, too." Clark looked down and sighed then hoisted Tim up again and headed toward the stairs.

"So… just us then," Jackson said brightly as he unrolled a roll of paper towels then dropped them on the spot on the floor. "All clean," he joked.

"Hey, where's the bathroom?" Pete asked, having downed his drink already.

"Two doors down the hall but I think Stew's in there… there's another down and upstairs." Pete nodded a 'thanks' then trailed off down the hallway. Jackson turned to Chloe, "Sorry about this, I swear it never… well, it happens a lot but normally not on Clark."

Chloe smiled, "It's okay. I'm not scared of a little upchuck."

"That's good, 'cause I'd expect some more tonight." They leaned against the counter. "Would you like some water? Or lemonade? I think there's lemonade."

"No thanks." As far as uncomfortable silences went, it notched about a seven out of ten on Chloe's meter. Jackson seemed like a cool guy; Clark liked him and that meant something to her.

"How long have you and Clark been friends?" he asked, leaning in to hear over the loud music.

"About two years. Pete and Clark have been best friends since they could walk, though."

"Wow. That's cool. It must have been hard when he moved here."

Chloe nodded, frowning a little. "Harder for him than us, I think."

"Oh yeah?"

"Definitely. I don't know what Clark told you but it wasn't good circumstances."

"Yeah, he said his parents died. That's rough."

"Rough would be an understatement. They were his best friends, and… I don't know why I'm telling you this. Sorry."

"No, it's okay. Clark's a great guy. I'm not going to spread it around or anything. I'd never do that."

Chloe smiled at him, "That's good to know."

"I mean, he's really cool and we're friends so you can tell me stuff about him. You can trust me." Chloe's spidey senses were tingling. She knew that look; hell, she perfected that look. "So what should I know about Clark Kent?"

Oh yeah, this guy had a thing for her very own Clark. She had to suppress a big smile; Clark had his first boy crushing on him. Poor Clark, he'd never know how to deal with it. She smiled bright and laughed a little, trying not to make Jackson feel uncomfortable. "You see, Clark's a mystery, even to me. He has a big heart and he's totally naive but he really cares for the people around him."

"Naïve, huh? I wouldn't have guessed."

Her smiled faded, "Well, he used to be. These last few months have had a life changing effect on him, obviously."

"Months? When did it happen?"

"Three months ago, almost four."

"Damn." Jackson had no idea Clark's parents had died so recently. Clark never spoke about them or let on, at all, that he was still dealing with it. "How's he doing? I mean, with everything."

"You could probably tell me better than I could. We haven't spoken much since he moved and when we do… well, he's not very open about his feelings or much else for that matter."

"Hm."

"So I take it he hasn't said anything to you."

"No, not at all. God, I didn't even know, I mean, I wouldn't have guessed. He seems so… together, you know, compared to the rest of us dysfunctionals."

"On the outside, Clark is always together, no matter how much the inside is falling apart. But listen Jackson, you can't treat him with pity or like a kicked puppy or anything. He'd hate that. He's not fragile."

"Right. I understand. I won't, promise."

"Good." She smiled, and so did he, then she stood straight, "Alright, I give in! Point me in the direction of the nearest beer pong game. I've got some ass kickin's to dish out."

Jackson laughed. Oh yeah, he liked her. "She talks the talk but does she walk the walk?"

"You bet I do."

---

"Tim, which one is your room?" Clark asked, still holding, but more like carrying, his friend.

"Iss 'At one," Tim slurred and flung his arm out.

"Okay you just pointed to every door."

"No… 'At one, at the 'nd."

"At the end?" Clark asked to be sure, "Tim! At the end?"

"Damnnn Cark, juss open da fuckin' doorssss."

Clark walked, and dragged Tim, to the end of the hall and opened the door to, thankfully, Tim's room. Clark let go of Tim halfway to his bed so he crawled the rest of the way and groaned as he settled on his side. Clark pulled off his shirt and tossed it into the trash bin before searching the closet for a replacement.

"'M sorry I puked on you," Tim mumbled from his bed.

Clark peeked around the closet door and laughed, "It's alright, Timmy. I know you didn't do it on purpose."

"You sure 'bout 'at?"

"What? You plotted to get wasted and puke on me?" He played along, pulling a shirt over his head.

"I might've."

"And why would you have done that?" He took the chair and trash bin from the desk and moved them next to Tim. He placed the bin near his friend, just in case, and sat in the chair.

"To piss off Yackson."

"Why would you want to piss off _J_ackson?"

"'Cause all he talks 'bout isss you. It's kinda 'nnoying… but don't take 'at the wrong way, 'lark. Youuure coool."

Clark laughed, a little uneasy. Surely Jackson didn't talk about him a lot. That would be weird. Wouldn't it? "I doubt he talks about me more than anyone else."

"No 'lark, you don't get it!"

"Don't get what? Tim?"

Tim answered by rolling over and puking again, this time in the trash bin. After a minute he looked up and said, "Hey, think yur friend likesss me?" He rolled onto his back and sighed, "She's hot. Hot like an operation 'oard game." He started laughing and so did Clark; it was pure drunk Tim.

Which explained it, Tim was drunk out of his mind and oblivious to what he was saying. Jackson didn't talk about him any more than Chloe would talk about him. But wait… didn't Chloe have a crush on him? Clark laughed, nervously. No way, he was reading too much into it. And Tim was drunk, and now sleeping. And there was nothing to worry about.

---

Clark found Pete and Jackson crowded around Chloe, who was standing at the dining room table. The crowd around them laughed and cheered when Chloe tossed the ping-pong ball. "Ha!" she shouted, "Drink up, Richie Rich!"

Rich glared at her, mumbled, "I hate that damn Macaulay Culkin" and started drinking.

Chloe bounced a little and screeched, "Clark!" when she noticed him standing behind them. "I'm winning!"

"That's awesome, Chlo."

Pete looked at him and laughed, "Yeah and if you couldn't tell, she's lost a couple of rounds, too. Her Dad's going to be pissed."

"When do you guys have to leave?" Clark asked, disappointed that they'd be leaving him soon.

"Tomorrow, or more accurately, this morning. I think her Dad said around ten o'clock."

"That sucks. I wish you could stay longer."

"Yeah, so do we."

"I won!!" Chloe screamed, then threw her arms around Clark's neck. When she pulled back she noticed his new shirt. "Whoa, Clark."

"What?" he asked, looking down at it, "It's clean."

"Yeah and tight!" She giggled.

He looked down again and chuckled, "I guess it is. This is the biggest one I could find." When he looked up, he noticed Jackson looking at his chest. He quickly changed the subject, "You ready to go, Chlo? You shouldn't drink any more or your Dad might find out."

"And how would he?"

"Oh I don't know, the hangover for instance."

She sighed, "Oh… right. Fine, but we're _so_ coming to another one of these. Richie needs that attitude put in check once in a while," she joked, looking back at Rich with a smile.

Jackson put his arms around her and Pete, "You guys are welcome back anytime."

"Thanks, man," Pete shook Jackson's hand then put his arm around Chloe, "Come on, girl, let's find you a bathroom before we get outside."

They said their goodbyes and Pete led her down the hall. Clark stayed back for a minute to talk to Jackson. "Hey thanks for being so nice. I was worried they wouldn't have a good time."

"I think they did. And I wasn't faking either; they're really cool. Make sure to bring them next time they're in town."

"I will, thanks. Oh you might want to check on Tim. I rolled him over but you know _him_."

Jackson laughed, "Yeah, will do. See you Monday."


End file.
